


you don’t have to be strong

by heyimal_ex



Category: IT (2017)
Genre: (he is not), Abuse, Hurt Richie, Richie Angst, can be read as pre-slash or good friends, eating issues, it’s ok to not be strong!, just how it is boys, not detailed but inferred, richie is hit, richie tries to be strong, richies parents r shitheads, stan cares abt richie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-10-29 16:09:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20799380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heyimal_ex/pseuds/heyimal_ex
Summary: richie calls stan one night and leaves him worried and wondering if his friend is okay.thankfully, richie has some really great friends, and stan goes over to investigate.





	you don’t have to be strong

richie’s hands trembled as he held them over the receiver, fighting back and forth with himself in his head. the blood dripped down the cut on his face, landing on his downturned palm, and perhaps it was the sight of that that gave him the strength. regardless, he suddenly snatched up the phone, and dialed one of the numbers he knew oh so well. 

stan picked up after only a few rings. “richie, what do you want? it’s nine, you know, my bedtime is soon and i’m studying right now-“

“hey stan.” richie hated how his voice was thick with tears, and by the way stan immediately stopped talking, he knew the other noticed. “i, uh- you’re studying?”

“yes, rich. i’m studying. is something wrong?”

“no.” richies hand flew up to his eyes and he scrubbed aggressively, just managing to smear the tears across his cheeks. “nothings wrong. i don’t know why i called. probably was hoping your mom would pick up so i could romance h-“

“do you need me to come over?”

“no.” richies answer was immediate, and he knew it probably sounded a little too nervous. he hated this. he was the fun man of the group, the jokester, the light-hearted punching bag - he wasn’t supposed to cry, he wasn’t supposed to be sad, and he wasn’t supposed to show it all. 

but his stomach ached so much and the bruises were so dark and he was so scared of hiding from the people who he knew would accept him regardless. 

he knew the only thing he was scared of was his own judgment, but when he heard his mother stumbling around downstairs and his father snap at her every few minutes, he realized he was terrified to getting his friends mixed up in this situation as well. 

“are you sure? because...you know, i can probably sneak-“

“i’m ok. really. just a good ol’ snap of the psyche. happens to the sexiest of us. i’ll be fine. i am fine. you go study, stan the man. unless, of course, you’re willing to take a brief moment of your time to hand the phone to your mother-“

“beep beep, richie.” stan groaned, and, despite everything, that put a smile on richies face. he could still make someone happy. he could still be funny. 

maybe he wasn’t as broken as he thought. 

“if you need me, call me.” stan made him promise to this, and the call was ended. if richie was feeling particularly crazy, he thought stan was saying something before he hung up, but it wasn’t anywhere near decipherable enough to tell. 

he wrapped his blankets as close as he could to his body and tried to move his head somewhere else as he settled into his own loneliness. 

stan spent about 5 minutes staring at the same sentence, the same word, gnawing at the end of his pencil like it was a goddamn jawbreaker, before he threw everything down out of frustration. almost violently he threw his arms through his jacket and marched right out the house, ignoring his parents yelling of his curfew.

fuck his curfew. something was wrong and he could feel it in his gut. he may be a little cowardly, sure, but he cared about richie a whole lot, and he wasn’t afraid to show it. 

i mean, maybe he was a little afraid to show it, but he was going to do this regardless. 

pedaling as fast as he could on his small bike, he high tailed it, desperation running through his head as he moved. 

the second he entered the toziers’ front yard, he practically threw down his bike, disregarding making sure it landed safely. his eyes scanned the residence before he found it - the little set of steps, shaky and shoddily thrown together with trash cans and stuffed cardboard - which richie had constructed leading up to his window. he knew trashmouth himself often snuck over to eddies house for late-night sleepovers, but there was the rare day when richie couldn’t get out. he never really explained why, just said he “really can’t, ed’s.” 

against the majority of richies urgings, eddie had come over instead, yelling to richie from the ground below. richie had thrown him what he had in his room to climb, and they had made it work. 

stan remembers the day eddie told him about this, sitting in the clubhouse with a (rather quiet) lack of tozier. when stan asked if eddie had ever caught a glimpse of his parents in all of his times being over there, he asked it rather hopefully, seeing as, as close as all the losers were, they had never really seen even a hair of the tozier parents. whenever they went to get richie, he either shot out his front door so fast no one could see in, or climbed unsteadily out of his window. 

eddie had remarked, a frown on his face, that richie had made sure eddie had stayed in his bedroom. he didn’t let him see his parents. 

the entire loser club had their suspicions. it was odd enough that richie had been friends with ed, stan and bill since preschool and they had essentially never seen his parents. never mind the fact that, once every month or so, richie would develop a brash bruise over his eye or cheek, claiming he stumbled and fell when pushed for a reason. 

it didn’t take a genius to figure it out, but no one in the club really wanted to face that reality. 

stan shook himself out of his thoughts and scrambled his way up the stairs. he hastily unclipped the windows locks and threw it up, trying his very best to be quiet, just in case anyone was in the room that he wasn’t aware of. 

richies bedroom was dark. the lights were off, and the only light provided was pouring in through the windows. from what stan could see, the floors were absolutely atrocious, clothing and trinkets thrown absolutely everywhere. he found it in himself to laugh a little - at least that stayed true to trashmouths personality. 

he threw one leg over the window pain and carefully lowered himself into the room. determining no one was in the room, he placed his feet carefully around the clothes as he crept up to the bed. 

sure enough, richie was in the bed, entangled in the sheets. it was hard to see him in the dark, but he was curled up, and shivering slightly, despite the heavy comforter thrown over his shoulders. 

it was mikes. stan recognized it. he probably gave it to richie and stan couldn’t help but wonder why.

“hey, rich.” he hissed out and leaned down, giving the other and quick shake from the shoulders. when he was rewarded with no response, he repeated the action, just a little bit harder than before. still, rich didn’t stir, so stan toed his way over to the lights and flipped them up. 

the response was immediate. richie flinched away, his eyes flying open with what stan could only describe as fear. he immediately grabbed the blanket and held it close to him, but stan was entirely focused on what the light in the room was now letting him see. 

richies eye was sporting one of the worst bruises stan had probably ever seen. it was green and blue and black and surrounded an area so large it bled onto his cheek. his lid was swollen shut, fluttering every few moments with pain. 

“rich.” stan breathed out, not even considering taking his eyes off the other as he moved forward. “it’s me. are you ok?”

“i told you you didn’t have to come over.” richies voice didn’t hold any malice, but he sounded obviously confused, fingers still white from how hard he was gripping his sheets. 

“i know.” stan huffed, moving closer to the other slowly. he had never seen rich looking so small - he looked targeted and scared, like he was afraid of what was to come. “but you sounded hurt.”

“i’m not.” rich answered quickly. “you should go home.”

“like hell. you think i’m leaving me you alone like this? you look like shit, trashmouth.”

“think i don’t know that?” richie snapped, and stan realized it was probably the first time he had seen the other agitated. every time he was pushed and prodded, he responded with jests, joking himself out of every sticky situation presented. 

when stan looked closer, he could’ve sworn he saw fear in richies eyes. maybe he wasn’t annoyed at all. 

“where’s your bathroom?” he cut to asking. “i’m gonna get you a cold cloth to put over your eye. then we can talk about what happened.”

“really, stan, you should, like, get the fuck out-“

“i’m not getting out, so stop trying to argue that.”

richie groaned as he pried himself off of his bed. “don’t leave the room, then. i’ll go get the paper towel. wouldn’t want you seein my mom and getting tempted-“

“beep beep.” stan rolled his eyes, but inside his heart thrummed with comfort at the fact the other was still joking around, despite everything. he couldn’t deny how much he cared about richie, even if he insulted him and cursed him all the time - maybe he should feel a bit bad about that. 

richie, clad in only his plaid pajamas, slipped out of the room and down the hall. a few long moments passed and stan took the opportunity to look around the now-illuminated room. posters decorated the walls, peeling from the sides and fading at the edges. bands and girls stared at him from every section, and stan found it in him to snort out a laugh. 

richies door opened and the boy himself walked back in, making sure to close it tightly behind him. he was holding a sopping wet paper towel and moved to hold it to his eyes, hissing slightly at the contact. 

“sit down.” stan waved his hand at the bed, moving to the side and watching richie get himself situated. he sat down next to the other and took the paper towel from his hand, getting to work on the wound himself. he pressed the coldest part of the towels against the bruises and wipes away the cut with the warmer parts. when the other winced, he squeezed his shoulder, heart aching for the other. 

“so?” he said after a few moments of thick silence. “you gonna tell me what happened?”

“just a domestic with eddies mom, stan. had a bit of a domestic and she-“

“richie.” stans eyes were hard as they connected with richies, refusing to disconnect contact. “can you just be serious for, like, one second?”

“no.” richies reply was raw, and his voice shook slightly, and it hit stan like a freight train that there were tears welling in the others eyes. “no, i can’t. i can’t face this shit, man.”

the shorter of the two swallowed hard and dabbed a little gentler at the blue skin underneath richs eyes. “you know i’m here to listen, right? all the losers are.”

“i know. i’m not supposed to feel sad though.”

“everyone can feel sad, rich.” stan doesn’t know how it happened, but his hand ended up on richies knee, a form of comfort that he prayed reached the other. “you’re a trashmouth, yeah. like, you never shut the fuck up, but you’re a person, and people feel sad. especially if you’re going through shit.”

a couple of moments of silence passed before richie opened his mouth, and just like that, the dam seemed to break. 

“my mom drinks. like, really hard. a lot. i usually come home and she’s passed out on the couch. she’s not happy with her life and drinks to get away from it. she’s really fucking mean when she’s drunk and i’ve never wanted any of you to get hurt from that. she really wanted a girl and reminds me of that constantly. my dad’s out of the house a lot to escape this. he’s probably cheating on my mom, but i don’t know if she’s aware enough to realize that. he’s so fucking mad all the time, stan. if i do one thing wrong i get it bad. he isn’t home a lot so he’s easy to avoid but when he is it’s like avoiding landmines, man. and we don’t have any fucking food, because no one bothers to buy it, and i get so hungry sometimes that i steal from bill and that’s pretty fucked up, and i-“ 

throughout richies talking, his knuckles had turned a bright white from how hard he was gripping his pajama pants. his chest began to heave and those tears began to fall, painting his cheeks as they dripped. stan shot a hand out when he noticed the other begin to hyperventilate, tugging him into a hug (the first one they’ve shared since it) and rubbing his back. 

“dude.” was all stan could choke out, his own tears beginning to show themselves. “i....none of us had any idea. fuck.”

“i didn’t want you to know. i’m supposed to be the funny one. i-i can’t let- fuck- i can’t let you guys down, even if i’m annoying as fuck i need to be there, i need-“

“none of us think you’re annoying.” stan cut him off. he was practically cradling the other at this point, rocking his body back and forth subconsciously. “we make jokes but we all love you so much, richie. if any of the other losers were here, they’d all be saying the same thing. and fuck you if you think i’m not gonna do something about this. i’m gonna bring you food every day, i’m gonna invite you everywhere, you can sleep over my house whenever you want, fuck, you could move in and i’d find a way to make my parents agree-“

richie choked on a sob and stan only held him closer and tighter, burying his hands in the others hair. rich seemed so touch deprived, clinging on to stans body as if it would leave the second he let go. 

“you’re gonna be okay. you’re gonna be okay, richie.” stan squeezed the other as tightly as he could without hurting him. 

“i’m so terrified of being forgotten, man.” 

“the losers will never forget you. i’ll never forget you. and you’re fucking crazy if you think eddie will ever let himself be not annoyed long enough to forget you.”

richie let out a soft laugh clogged by tears and leaned his way back. he looked like an absolute mess - his eye was still blue and black and now his cheeks were red and puffed from crying. now that stan was looking at richie with new information, he could see all the places on his face, shoulders, and bowed legs where his bones stuck out, too little fat for a growing boy.

stan wanted to scream at the world for doing this to the best person he knew. 

“you mind if i stay tonight?” 

“won’t your parents get mad?”

“yeah, but that’s okay. i wanna make sure you’re alright. i don’t wanna leave you.”

richie swallowed and nodded, and they adjusted their positions in the bed, with both of them lying facing each other. stan waited a few moments before pulling the other back against his chest, letting out a sight as richie relaxed. hands trained back into his hair and entangled themselves in the curls, massaging the scalp lightly. richie seemed to absolutely melt as his fingers grasped the back of stans shirt. 

“i’m sorry to be so handsy.”

“eh.” stan shrugged. “guys don’t usually touch their friends this much, but i’m not really uncomfortable. are you?”

“nah.”

“maybe we should do this more often then.”

“maybe. ed’s would fuckin lose it, though.”

stan snorted. “i can hear him now. ‘don’t call me ed’s! don’t touch me with your germs!’.”

the two of them laughed, and stan hoped with every fiber of his being that richie would turn out okay, despite everything. he held him so tight that night, praying that he could somehow squeeze the other tight enough to put him back together. 

richie would be okay. stan wouldn’t let him not be. 

and, if, after that time, stan made a visible effort to bring in double snacks for richie, the other never commented, and just accepted them with a joke.


End file.
